


from the waters of avalon, reborn

by Elizabeth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Arthur learns about modern life, Banter, Bickering, Canon Compliant, Current Events, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Sassy Merlin (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: After more than a millennium, Avalon spits out Arthur like a lump of ambergris. Merlin is stunned, but figures it's a fitting end to one of the strangest years he can remember.Written for the prompt: "Arthur is adjusting to life in the 21st century, and Merlin helps him through it" with humor and Merthur 😘Slow burn, friends to lovers, with bi-awakening Arthur and a Merlin who's been living a pretty good life, actually, all things considered.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Super special thank you to [@castiel-holmeshasthephonebox](https://castiel-holmeshasthephonebox.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for this prompt! I've been wondering what Merthur to write next, and this is already giving me so much joy. 
> 
> I have a couple of other simultaneous WIPs (one I'm going to finish very soon here), but I'm having a blast with this and hope the updates will be pretty regular. Five chapters planned, but more may come.
> 
> Also, the iconic [We Begin Again series](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092269/chapters/13964185) by the incomparable [katherynefromphilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherynefromphilly/pseuds/katherynefromphilly) was the first fic I fell in love with and has inevitably imprinted on my subconscious in a way that cannot be extricated for this story, so I should credit her as inspiration and note that while I am trying to be as original as possible, I cannot imagine an Arthur Returns story more in-character than hers. The current story will largely be different because of the absence of her brilliant OCs, the plot, the tone, and the length.

_ 21 December 2020; Somerset _

Cold weather reminded Merlin of Arthur.

This remembrance was due to several factors, Merlin had decided. He had had centuries, now, to psychoanalyze himself. He had seen a few trained therapists, too, over the years, to see just what that was all about. They had been nice, for the most part. They had also been young and inexperienced. Then again, everyone was young and inexperienced compared to Merlin.

Cold weather felt melancholy. It may have been the shortened days, or it could have been an association with the time he’d spent alone high in the peaks of the White Mountains. He had lived lifetimes in a lonely hermitage with nothing but limited flora and fauna to accompany him; the emotions lingered, even if the structure itself had long-since crumbled to splinters and dust. Yet even in that isolated hideaway, he’d been able to draw fire from nature to heat himself, his horse, and any visiting birds. But no. The sensation of the cold was an older memory. It was the memory of stiff muscles and winter nights spent in stocks, pelted with sour, pulpy vegetables. It was the memory of too many nights spent running, almost lost in the Darkling Wood.

Back then, Arthur had always had a thick, red cloak. Merlin had shivered and froze in his brown jacket.

He had given up the original jacket, finally, around the time of William the Conqueror. That was when four-digit years were still a novelty. He had replaced it with one that was almost identical, which he had seldom worn. Instead, he kept himself warm with a fur-lined cape or heavy wool. 

He hadn’t been one to follow fashion trends, but magic and longevity had resulted in the means to support a more robust standard of living.

Regardless, the cold reminded him of Arthur, even in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Merlin had therefore made it something of a tradition, for the past century or two (it had become quite hard to keep track), of visiting Arthur at Winter Solstice, the darkest night of the year.

The trek was like a sort of pilgrimage. Avalon was now on public land, not far from his country house. He usually took a pack with him, with bread, an apple, and dried meat. He slung it over his shoulder and walked the mile or so through his back garden and woods. Most of the year, he avoided the lake, but the path was still there, beaten into the earth by his feet until it was as permanent a fixture as the ruined tower or the water itself. 

“Well,” he said, as if Arthur could hear. “I’m back.” He waited for the reply that never came. “Still here. Still alive. Just like you’re still out there, in Avalon, not quite dead, but not living. Undead.” He repeated the speech almost every year. Sometimes he told Arthur of his friends. Sometimes he told him of their deaths. It was never any easier than the time before. He shivered and clenched his chattering teeth, crossing his arms against the cold air.

He was in his twenty-third brown jacket. He found that leather and linen both lasted well. 

“I really could have used you this year,” he told Arthur. “It’s been a right shit-show, this one has. Plagues, genocides, explosions, fires. Don’t even get me started on what they’re calling politics these days. I know I say that every year—but believe me, this time, it’s _really_ true.”

“‘When Albion’s need is greatest, you’ll rise again,’ my arse.” Merlin sat down on the shore and stared at the tower on the island. It was covered in more mist that usual, which seemed poetic and appropriate. “Albion isn’t even a _thing_ anymore, you know. You missed your shot. Good job.” Merlin pulled a toffee candy from his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. He pocketed the wrapper, and then looked back at the island. “Huh,” he said aloud. “That’s a thick fog.”

It seemed to ripple and swell, like nothing Merlin had seen for a long, long time. His skin tingled and rose in gooseflesh. “Oh,” he said. “That’s… huh.” He watched it expand, billowing across the calm water, which, as if remembering its cue, began to swirl and churn. Merlin sighed. “Really? The Sidhe? Now?” He yelled, “What are you going to do to take over, start a nuclear war?” He made a rude gesture. “Nobody gives a shite about your sideshow enchantments, you bunch of twats!” He muttered, “Should’ve brought the staff.”

A rumbling sounded across the water, like distant thunder, and Merlin saw a flash of light. He frowned. And then, as if spit up by a whale, a naked body surged up from the lake water, sputtering, gasping, and thrashing about. Merlin cursed with a loud and creative phrase, and then dove into the mist-covered, frigid water. He swam out to the person, and gripped them—or rather, tried to grip them. They struggled against him, flailing wildly. “Would you stop it?” Merlin shouted.

In response, the person seemed to howl. The noise was unpleasant, so Merlin dropped them.

They sank.

Merlin scowled. He stood in chest-deep water, chilled to the bone. He waited. The person did not come back up. “Oh, for fuck’s—” Merlin dove again, grabbing the body that had now gone limp. He hauled them up and clasped them tight, and then trudged to the shore, pulling them along like a sack. “ _The water… is not even… that deep—ugh!_ ” he grunted.

The mist ended at the shore. Merlin heaved the person down, and knelt over them. He blinked. “Gods above and below,” he gasped. He pushed them onto their side and thumped them hard on the back.

The person was racked with coughs and retched out a stream of water. It was a man. He lied back, and his eyes opened. “Dragoon?” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Or...” He coughed. “Are you?”

The voice, haggard as it was, twisted in Merlin like a blade. He took a deep, deep breath. He slowly let it out. He cleared his throat. “Hello Arthur.”

“Merlin…” Arthur blinked a few times, squinting in the winter sunlight. “Why are you wet?” He looked down. “And old? And where the bloody hell are my clothes?”

“Can’t you just conjure something?” Arthur high-stepped through the scraggly underbrush. “I thought you were a powerful sorcerer.” He winced each time his bare feet touched the ground. 

“I told you, you can wear my boots. You didn’t want them.”

“What is _wrong_ with your boots?”

“Nothing.”

“They look strange.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure you’re about to say that about all manner of things. There are clothes at the house.”

“Clean?”

Merlin glared at him. “Yes. Why would they not be clean?”

“Honestly, Merlin, what if someone sees?”

“No one will see. I don’t have anyone coming today, especially with the lockdowns. And it isn’t anything _I_ haven’t seen.” Merlin shivered, and then glanced back at Arthur. “Although,” he smirked, “I guess it is a bit cold.”

“Merlin, you… _ass_. And what are you on about, no one’s coming? Lockdowns? And, come to think of it, what house?”

“My house.”

“Gaius’s—”

“Gaius is dead.”

“ _What?!_ How? When?”

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. “A long, long time ago.”

“But—”

“Come on.”

“I’m coming! Are you at camp? Who’s with you?”

“No one. And no.”

“You’re out hunting or on patrol… alone?”

“Do you remember the last time we spoke, Arthur?”

Arthur stilled. “You said you’re… Wait.” He paled, which seemed impossible; he was already nearly a spectral white.

Merlin nodded.

“That’s…” Arthur’s eyes looked wildly about.

“Calm down. Just breathe, and keep moving. I can’t have you freezing to death, of all things. Not that that should be likely, given what just happened, but who knows?” He tried to laugh, and it came out harsh and bitter. “Best not risk it.”

“Where are we going?”

“My home.”

“Your home? By Avalon?”

“My country house, yes.”

“You keep other lodgings in Camelot?” Arthur’s teeth chattered.

“London.”

“London?” Arthur scoffed. “Why?”

“Because sometimes I like to take in a show or check in on things.”

“Check in on—what’s this?”

“A lamppost. This is my garden.” Merlin passed through the tree line and gestured to the house. 

Arthur stopped. His mouth turned down in a sort of gaping frown. “What is—”

“My house.”

“Yours? Why does it look like that? Is it on fire?”

“No. And yes, mine. Probably because it’s been rebuilt a few times. And it’s not on fire. Come on now, you’re shaking.” Merlin suppressed his own shudder. The wet clothes clung to him, and it felt like his shirt was freezing to his chest. He’d have to thaw it to remove it.

Arthur’s eyes widened more and more as they approached the house. He hissed in discomfort as his bare feet touched the frosted flagstone walk, but he didn’t speak. Merlin opened the closest door, which led to the solarium, and Arthur’s mouth had dropped open as he stared. Merlin gestured. “Would you hurry up and get inside?”

Arthur huffed and hurried in, and then groaned in relief as the warmth buffeted them. Merlin made a similar sound, and he rushed to strip out of his wet jacket and shirt. It stung. His boots came off next, sodden socks, and then his trousers. Arthur’s brow furrowed. “What kind of strange braies are you wearing?”

Merlin snorted. “You should see my Marcuse briefs.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Come on, it’s freezing.”

“It was freezing _outside_ , _Mer_ lin.”

“It’s even warmer _inside, Ar_ thur.”

“We are inside!”

“We’re in the solarium. It’s warm, but it’s even warmer in the rest of the house. It’s not like I’m growing orchids or anything.”

Arthur made a face. “How is this _your_ house? You’re a peasant.”

“Fu—there’s no such thing as peasants anymore. Actually, there kind of are, but it isn’t the same thing.”

Arthur looked incredulous. “There will always be peasants. If not, how would anyone eat?”

“Farmers aren’t peasants, Arthur, and no one keeps servants anymore.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“I said _no one keeps servants anymore_.”

“I heard you!”

“Well, you asked.” Merlin opened the door from the solarium to the family room, and the even warmer air made him convulse. His fingers and toes stung. “Now get inside.” He looked at the fireplace and sent a surge of elemental magic to it, making the logs on the hearth ignite. Arthur rushed forward and sank down onto the thick rug in front of it, curling into himself and shaking. Merlin closed the door behind him.

The house was quiet and still, and he stood for a moment, soaked, in his boxer briefs, and let his brain catch up. He nearly collapsed.

_ Arthur. _

_ Arthur Pendragon. _

Arthur Pendragon had returned. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his palms. When he opened them, Arthur was still there, shivering in front of his favourite fireplace. “This can’t be happening,” he muttered. “I’m hallucinating again. Maybe my omelette was drugged.” He tried to remember if the mushrooms had tasted different than usual. Then again, “This isn’t anything at all like the last time I tried hallucinogenics.” 

“ _What_ are you talking about?”

“You. And drugs.”

“ _Huh_?”

Merlin laughed, a little hysterically. “What’s happening?”

“I would certainly appreciate if someone would tell _me_.”

“I—”

“ _Not_ you, Merlin. Someone who isn’t an idiot.”

Merlin’s jaw dropped open. “I can’t believe I missed you.”

“You missed me? Why?”

“Arthur.” Merlin approached him slowly. He sank down beside him. “ _Arthur,_ ” he whispered.

Arthur shook his head. “What?”

“Do you… remember… the last time... Do you remember anything from…”

Arthur inhaled, opening his mouth to speak, and then stopped. He blinked. “Wait…” He looked down at his body, now dry, and shining in the firelight. “I…”

“Arthur, you…” Merlin choked. He cleared his throat, and then laughed. “Gods, it was ages ago. Centuries—”

“What?”

“You _died_ , Arthur. _Fifteen_ _hundred_ years ago.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“You remember I have magic.”

“Well yes, you just told me after…” His eyes widened and met Merlin’s.

“After Camlann.” Merlin nodded.

“And Mordred…”

“He stabbed you.”

“I…”

“You were mortally wounded. And I…” Merlin stopped to steady his breath. “I took you to Avalon, to try—to try to save you.”

“But we… I fell asleep. I remember. I heard you—you spoke to the dragon.”

“You died.”

“But I’m alive.”

“He said you would return, one day. I took you to Avalon, and put you on a boat, as I did with…” Merlin bit his lip. He took a deep breath.

“I remember it felt I was floating, like being submerged in Roman thermae. And there were muted voices that came and went, but I can’t remember what they said. Merlin,” Arthur made a laughing sound that was mirthless and forced. “Merlin, you said it was,” he laughed again, “how many… years?”

“It’s been almost one thousand five hundred years.”

Arthur swallowed. Then he laughed a genuine laugh. It was a grating sound, and Merlin ground his teeth together in response. “Merlin—no, really, Merlin—how long,” he laughed, “how long have I been asleep?” He snorted. “One thousand years! That’s good.” He shook his head. “You nearly had me there, I admit. And this is quite the ruse,” he said with a sweep of his hand. “But really. How long have I been asleep?”

Merlin wet his lips. “I think it’s something like one thousand four hundred seventy-five years.”

Arthur tilted his head to the side, and then straightened. He rolled his shoulders back, as if bracing himself for a fight, and the gesture stirred up a flood of memory so clear and piercing, Merlin had to look away. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his racing heartbeat. Arthur sucked in a shaking breath. “No,” he said. His voice was commanding. “No.”

“Arthur—”

“This can’t be true. Where’s Gwen? Where is Leon? Where are my knights?”

“Arthur, it’s true. I wouldn’t lie about this. It has been… I have been—”

“If it’s been a thousand years, how are you—how am I—how are _we_ alive?”

“I told you, the dragon said you would return, one day.”

“And you?”

“My magic.”

“Then Gaius…”

“No, Arthur, my magic is different. Remember?”

Arthur sighed. He nodded, a sharp, brief nod.

“I should… I’ll get you some clothes, Sire. You can… wait here.”

Merlin stood in his closet for a long moment. His hands shook, and he clenched them into fists to stop it. “This can’t be happening,” he whispered. “This can’t be real. This is real. This is really real.” _No_ , he thought. _I’m going to go back, and he’ll have disappeared._ “What if he disappears?” He heaved a breath and pulled on dry pants. He threw on clothes with little consideration, and then pulled out his most comfortable Balmain joggers and a cozy jumper he’d bought on his last trip to Lima. He started back, and then turned around and opened drawers to grab a pair of wool socks and soft boxer briefs. He stood still, again, and then rushed back across the house.

Arthur was staring into the fire. “Clothes,” Merlin said, voice low. He set them beside Arthur.

“Merlin?”

“Yes?”

“Is this… Is this… Am I dreaming?”

“No.”

“This is real.”

“I think this is real.”

Arthur looked up at him, and his eyes were that clear, bright blue Merlin had almost convinced himself was a figment of his imagination. His eyes were blue, and wide, and terrified in a way Merlin had never seen before. Even the night of his father’s death, when responsibility had weighted his shoulders, Arthur had a defiant optimism. That had been an inevitability; this was unnatural. His hand reached out and stroked the jumper. “Your clothes are still hideous,” he murmured. “But where is your neckerchief?”

Merlin let himself smile. “I only wear it on special occasions.”

“Is this not special?” 

Merlin shrugged. “You know, I haven’t minded not being bossed around—”

“You said you missed me!”

“I had forgotten how supercilious you can be.”

“Oh-ho! You know you can’t talk to me like that.”

“You aren’t king anymore—there isn’t a Camelot.”

“What?” Arthur went still.

“Uh, well, there was for a long time. It eventually, well, the kingdoms were united, and then the Normans… I think it’s going to take more of an explanation than I can manage right now. You’ve, well, you’ve missed a lot. And now it’s the United Kingdom, which is England and Wales and Scotland and Northern Ireland—”

“We’ve taken more territory. Excellent.”

“Well, I mean, we took a _lot_ of territory, and it wasn’t really excellent, per se. There was this whole empire period…”

“Like the Romans?”

“Uh, kind of bigger than that.”

Arthur nodded, looking thoughtful. “I see.”

“No, you really don’t.”

“And who is king of this… what was it?”

“United Kingdom. It’s queen, actually. Elizabeth.”

“Hmm.” Arthur cleared his throat and pulled on the jumper. “We shall speak to her at once.”

“Uhh, no, we shan’t.”

“Uhh, _yes_ , we shall.”

“I haven’t talked to the royal family in ages, Arthur, and I don’t mean to start now. They don’t even do anything except charity work and parades. It’s just a ceremonial thing.”

“That’s absurd. The ki—queen will have all manner of work. _You_ just don’t know what she does because you’re… you.”

“Well I bloody well _had_ to know everything _you_ did because you couldn’t manage a bit of it without me!”

“Rubbish. You were too busy losing yourself in a tavern mug to—”

“I wasn’t at the tavern, you pillock! I was off saving you from every would-be assassin and half-cocked sorceress—”

“Half-cocked?”

“Yes!” Merlin pointed. “Put those pants on!”

“What, these?” Arthur held up the boxer briefs.

“Yes, those! You’re sitting bare-arsed on my rug!”

“It isn’t my fault!”

“Well I didn’t send you off to Avalon starkers!” 

“You think I stripped myself of armour by choice, in the middle of a frigid lake, in the—” Arthur stopped. “Gwen.”

Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it. He knelt and then sat. He nodded.

“Gwen is…”

“She was an incredible queen.”

“She—”

Merlin reached out, but drew his hand back before touching Arthur. “I’m sorry.”

“How did it happen?”

“Peacefully. Years later. She reigned over a true Golden Age.”

“Did you…”

“I served her, of course, as I served you. Better. She knew.” Arthur looked at him. “Not all along, but after… after you were gone.”

Arthur nodded and looked back into the fire. Merlin looked, too. If he tried, he knew he could form the flames to her shape, to give them both one final glimpse of her.

But it wouldn’t be her. The figure would be hollow. She was a relic of the past, and Merlin had learned long, long ago to live in the present. The past was important: it formed him—both of them. Reflection was imperative, to a point. But to look only back was madness.

Eventually, Arthur stood. He dressed himself slowly.

“Are you hungry?”

Arthur nodded.

“Let’s go to the kitchen.” He led the way. “There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.”

“What?”

Merlin grinned. “You’ll see. The world may be absolute shite right now, but at least there’s pizza.”

“Pizza,” Arthur repeated.

“Oh yeah. Pizza. One of the best things to come out of Italy unrelated to art.”

“A Roman legacy?”

“Naples.”

Arthur hummed. “Interesting. And these… Naplians... Napolians—”

“Neapolitans.”

“Are these Neapolitans allies of Al—Unite—the United Quee—Kingdom, or foes?”

“The _Italians_ are allies, inasmuch as any EU member nation. I mean, with Brexit—look, this is going to take a long time to explain.”

“Then I shall eat the pizza.”

Merlin snorted. “Yeah, you will. Because that’s all I’m willing to heat up.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said that’s all—”

“I heard you, _Mer_ lin. And anyway, where is your cook if you live in a house this size?”

“I told you, no one keeps servants anymore.”

“You mean you keep no staff at all?”

“Well, I mean, I employ people from time to time. But most of the time, no. It’s too much of a pain.”

“Too much of a pain to have help?” Arthur made a face. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Just… follow me to the kitchen.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit more angsty than I planned. It's probably a result of the past week, which, here in the US, has been... rather wild.
> 
> The humor and fluff will return, but catching up on 1500 years requires reconciling with a whole lot of bad things! I didn't want to just ignore that reality. Now that it's been reconciled, however, we'll be able to have more of the fun stuff.
> 
> Content Warning: discusses racism, slavery, genocide, homophobia, and other terrible things that have happened/are happening throughout history.

“Tell me,” Arthur commanded, “what you’ve been doing.”

Merlin had forgotten what it was like to be commanded. It had been a long, long time since anyone had either wanted or dared to give him orders. He pressed his fingertips together, watching the skin around his knuckles wrinkle. “What I’ve been doing?”

“Yes.” Arthur took a drink of the wine Merlin had poured him, and then frowned at the glass. “This is good.”

Merlin scoffed. “Well I bloody well hope so,” he muttered.

“What was that?”

“I said I hope so. It’s a hundred pounds a bottle.”

“A hundred what?”

“It’s currency. Coin. It was one pound of silver, but that’s not how it works any more.”

Arthur’s jaw flexed as he considered the information. “A hundred… If it’s been a long—” He cleared his throat. “—a long time. Long time.” He blinked. “What have you been doing all this time?”

Merlin worried his lip. He watched Arthur take another small bite of pizza. “It isn’t exactly easy to say. I’ve… lived. I’ve worked and travelled and… lived. Lives.”

“I can see that,” Arthur replied with a quick huff of a laugh. He waved his hand to acknowledge Merlin’s appearance. “And is this… this… the real you?”

“The real me?”

“I mean, at the battle… All those times before. You were Dragoon. Old, and then young again.”

“Oh. Yes. This time it’s me—I’ve learned I age… differently. But I can sort of reset it with the right potion.”

“The right potion,” Arthur repeated.

“I’ve been practising magic now for a,” Merlin sighed, “a very long time. And collecting knowledge of magic.” He spoke slowly. “There isn’t a lot I can’t do.”

Arthur spoke into his plate. “How very nice for you.”

“I thought we were past this.”

Arthur took a deep breath. “We are.” He took another drink. “It’s just… This is all quite unexpected. And your kitchen—I take it this is all your magic?”

“No, that’s electricity. Well, and gas.”

Arthur frowned.

“Do you have any idea how much happens in a thousand years?”

Arthur considered the question for a moment. “Civilizations rise and fall.”

“Yeah. And the past few hundred years have been… transformative. Life is very different, especially when you consider communication and transportation.” Merlin shrugged. “We can talk on the phone or video chat someone in Tokyo or New York.”

Arthur’s frown intensified. “What are you going on about?”

“Technology.”

“Technology?”

“Yes. It’s like, you know, how we make things to help us out.”

“I know the meaning of  _tekhnologia_ , _Mer_ lin. I am educated, you know. I had many skilled tutors.”

“In warfare.”

“In a hell of a lot more than warfare! Language. Architecture. Diplomacy. Camelot is the diamond of civilisation, I’ll have you know.”

“Uh, no, actually, it wasn’t _at all_. The ‘diamond of civilisation,’ if that _was_ a thing, at that point in time would probably have been—I think that’s when the Hagia Sophia was being built, so Camelot didn’t even win on architecture. That was the Byzantines.”

“I am _aware_ of the Byzantines, Merlin. Obviously.”

“In theory, maybe, but you haven’t actually seen it.” Merlin scoffed. “And you can’t call anyplace with such a clear history of human rights abuses—well, you can _barely_ call it civilisation at all! You know historians refer to Britannia’s kings and queens of that time as warlords. Warlord is _not_ a compliment.”

“Bri—oh. Warlord? That doesn’t sound bad.”

“It is.” Merlin took a drink from his own glass. “It most certainly is.”

“Well, if I remember correctly, you said _you_ are a _dragonlord_. That doesn’t sound particularly flattering.”

“I _was_. They’ve gone to the mountains to sleep, now. Kilgharrah and Aithusa.”

“Does that make it better? You’re a failed dragonlord.”

Merlin glared. “It wasn’t a bad thing to begin with! Dragonlords are important. Unless, of course, you _want_ your cities to burn.” He huffed. “And saying the dragons are _not_ attacking is a failure is like saying a warlord is only successful when war doesn’t end. Which means no one wins the war.”

Arthur ate more pizza. “No, Merlin, that is _not_ the same thing. A dragon, as we have seen, can be a weapon. A powerful weapon.”

“No, a dragon is just a flying flamethrower. It wouldn’t be powerful at all compared to a Spitfire. Or a Typhoon. Or whatever they’re using these days.”

“What are you on about?”

“Flying machines. They’re called aeroplanes. Look, it’s going to take a long time to get you caught up on all of this.”

“Oh, well I’m so _terribly sorry_ to inconvenience you—you clearly have so much very important work you’re doing in your weird little house.”

“This house is not weird or little!”

“It glows and makes strange noises!”

“That’s the lighting and the heat.”

Arthur frowned. He took another bite. “This pie is good,” he grumbled.

Merlin rolled his eyes. He rubbed his temples. 

“Your eyes are the same. And your voice.” Arthur sipped his wine. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.”

“I disguised my voice so you wouldn’t. And you nearly did recognize my eyes.”

“Why didn’t you change them?”

“I never thought you’d notice.”

“How could I not?”

“What?”

“Your eyes, _Mer_ lin.”

“What about them, _Arth_ ur?”

Arthur looked away and shrugged. “They’re just… distinctive.” He cleared his throat.

Merlin frowned. It wasn’t the first time anyone had commented on his eyes, but it was the first time he could remember that Arthur had mentioned them. _Do I just not remember?_ he wondered. It had been a long time since his first lifetime. “I should get my laptop,” he said.

“Laptop?”

“Look, you should also know that language has changed, too. Vowel sounds are different, and we use different words—I’m going to have to start introducing it to you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to have trouble understanding everything,” Merlin said, in Modern English. Arthur looked horrified. “See?” Merlin lifted his eyebrows.

“What _was_ that?”

“That’s how we speak now.”

“Why?”

“I think you’re going to be asking that a lot over the next few days.”

As afternoon faded into night, Merlin led Arthur from room to room. His steps were unhesitating beside Merlin, despite the tension in his body. “This is the library.”

“These books—they’re so small.”

“They’re made a lot differently. There’s a machine. This contraption. It has letters and paper goes into it and is printed—sort of like being stamped—one after another, so there can be many, many copies, and no one has to write it all out or scratch it into vellum or anything. The folios and incunabula are over there—that’ll look more familiar.”

“To use so much paper… Our lands must be bountiful to afford it.”

“Well, there are machines that make paper now, too.”

“Machines…”

“I’ll, uh, here.” Merlin gestured to an old encyclopaedia set. “These books have information about a lot of things.” He opened up the article on the printing press and showed Arthur the illustration. “That’s the printing press. Or, anyway, what it looked like a few hundred years ago. Now they’re bigger and faster.” He ran his hand over his beard. “That was around the time things started to speed up.” He hummed. “It happens like that, every so often. Something changes, and the world will shift. Too slow to notice, at first, but then it’s so different it’s hard to look back.”

Arthur ran his hand along the book spines. He wandered through the library for a few minutes, squinting at the titles. Some of them, Merlin knew, he could read. Others would be strange, newer spellings. He stopped. “What is this?”

“Oh. That’s a globe.”

“Well yes, I see it’s a globe. What is on it?”

“No, it’s called a globe. It’s a map. Of the world.”

“A map…” Arthur leaned close to it. He ran his finger along the curve. “Merlin…”

“Here,” Merlin murmured. He turned it. “That’s us. That’s what we know it looks like, now.”

“How is it so different?”

“We’ve seen it from above.”

“These flying machines.”

“Yes, those, but also more powerful ones. That go much higher. To the moon, even.”

“The moon?” Arthur swallowed, and Merlin saw the bob of his Adam’s apple as he gulped. He sucked in a sharp breath. “And this… This is Africa. It’s so big.” He turned it. “And the Far East.”

“Asia. Where most people live. That’s China. This is India.”

“Where Alexander reached.”

“Yeah. Well… To the edge, anyway.”

“And this?”

“That’s Australia. We did some terrible things there.” Merlin frowned. “We did horrible things in Africa, too, actually. Especially further south.”

“This sea. It is really this big?”

“It is, yeah. The Pacific is enormous.”

“And what is this?”

“That’s the Americas. Canada. The United States. Mexico. South America is all of this—Brazil, Argentina, Venezuela, several nations.” Merlin sniffed. “We’ve done terrible things all over there, too.”

“Why?”

“To take more territory, as you put it earlier.”

“What terrible things?”

“Well, there were people living there already, and we basically tried to wipe them out.”

“What? Why? Were they not able to form alliances for trade?”

“Some of it has to do with money, and some has to do with religion. Also, people have different skin colours.”

Arthur made a face. “Yeah. So?”

“Some people do not like people with different skin colours.”

“Why?”

“I do not know. They had this idea that people with darker skin weren’t as… uh, important? It’s hard to—there was this whole period of slavery, until pretty recently in the US. There are still a lot of issues. And not just in the US.”

“The US?”

“This one. The United States.”

“And they mistreated people?”

“They mistreat people. In a lot of places. Yes.”

“That is ignorant.”

“It is. Sort of like burning people who have magic.”

Arthur grimaced. “Well, no, that isn’t quite the same. Someone can choose not to use magic, whereas skin colour is not something that can be put on.”

“I wasn’t saying it’s the same thing. I specifically said ‘sort of like.’”

“But you were making a comparison. That doesn’t seem—and we didn’t _enslave_ people with magic.”

“No, you _burned_ them. But I’m not trying to make a comparison, I’m just, once again, pointing out that Camelot was _not_ the cradle of civilisation you want to think it was. Well. I must say it improved greatly when Guinevere took over. She was really the best thing that ever happened to Camelot. And, it should be noted, was a woman of colour.”

“Of colour?”

“Yes, that’s how people—the appropriate language changes sometimes. Because people do, in general, get less shitty about differences. Or anyway... It rather comes and goes, I suppose. I mean, there was that whole period where homosexuality was a crime.”

“Homosexuality?”

“Two men or two women together.”

“Oh. You mean both… erm… roles? Not just the Roman…”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yes.” He sighed. “Basically, the whole of history is just a series of people fucking up in a variety of ways. Desperately trying to hold onto power. Relentlessly trying to subjugate anyone not like them. And a constant effort to maintain a status quo in which those with capital retain it at the expense of everyone else.”

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. He grimaced. “And what role did you play in this?”

“What?”

“What role did you play?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re an immortal sorcerer who can command elements. You can call forth lightning. What did you do to stop these things?”

Merlin sputtered. “I did as much as I could.”

“Oh?”

“When I recovered, yes. I advised generations of kings and queens—do you know how many times I was nearly put to death? I’ve escaped from the Tower more times than I can count! And dungeons—not just yours.”

“Recovered from what?”

Merlin stared at him. “What do you think?”

Arthur shrugged.

“You died, you nitwit. Gods above, you really are a cabbage head; I didn’t just make that up. You _died_. Gwen died. Percival died. Gaius died. My mother died. Leon died. Even bloody Geoffrey died. All of the knights died. And even before that! Gwaine died! Lancelot died! My father! People who _should_ have been friends! Do you know who my closest friends were? All of you! You, you absolute—” He stopped and caught his breath. When he looked up, Arthur’s face had paled. “Do you have _any_ idea what it’s like to watch everyone you love _die_? And then to move on, and do it _all over again…_ ” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I haven’t thought about this in so long.” He sighed. “I’ve mentored young sorcerers and sorceresses like they were my own children. I’ve loved and grown old with them, and then watched as they died.” He blinked away tears. “And yes—in between that, I have served as an advisor for generations of royalty. I’ve tried to keep them in check—to convince them to show temperance _and_ tolerance. The thing about you bloody royals, _however_ , is you think you’re above everything! And _you_ , Arthur Pendragon, _you_ are the worst of all.” He looked back at Arthur and saw pain cross his face before he turned away.

Arthur caressed the globe. “What were the terrible things we did?” he asked.

“Tried to wipe out cultures. Spread disease that killed huge numbers of people. Imprisoned people, split up families. Killed natives through _warfare_.”

“Is there… Was there nothing good?”

Merlin drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “There was. There are always people doing good. They’re just quieter. The Windsors, now—the royal family—they haven’t always been perfect, but they do a lot of charity work. They’ve thrown away a lot of their power.”

“But why, when they could use their power for good?”

“Because people now think you should vote for leaders. Like the Roman Republic. Kind of.”

Arthur made a face.

“War isn’t as… Well, I suppose war is as common, but people aren’t conscripted into it anymore. In the UK, anyway.” Merlin scrubbed a hand over his face. “This all makes the world sound a lot worse than it is. You should know that many things are actually far better. Hygiene. Access to food. Water. Health. It isn’t perfect, but it is better.”

“We’re so small,” Arthur said, tracing his finger around the British Isles. His voice was so quiet, Merlin had to lean in to hear. “I never knew we were so small.”

“Come on,” Merlin said. He led him to the next room.

“Don’t freak out.”

“What?”

“Like, don’t… get scared.”

“Why on earth would I get scared?”

“Because this is one of the most different things I’ve shown you yet.”

“More different than the box of cold?”

“Refrigerator. And yes.”

“Right.” Arthur’s face was very serious. He seemed to brace himself.

“Here, why don’t you sit?”

“Sit?”

“Yeah. We still have furniture.”

“The settee doesn’t… do anything?”

“Not this one.”

“Right.” Arthur sank down onto the sofa.

“Okay. This is a television. Think of it like a painting, except the picture moves.”

“What?”

“It’s a stream of images that blend together to make it appear like movement. And it’s paired up with a recording of sound.”

“It’s sorcery?”

“No, it’s just science.”

“Impossible. Show it to me.”

Merlin sighed. He clicked on the television. The screen lit up with the middle of a show. A man shot another man with a handgun, and he fell, bloodied, to the floor. “Fuck,” said Merlin. He dropped the remote, and it rolled under the couch. As he crouched to pick it up, he could hear more gunshots come from the speaker. When he sat back up, Arthur's shoulders were drawn up near his ears. Merlin frantically clicked to another channel.

“What was that?!”

“Uhh…” Merlin looked at the screen. On this channel, a man and a woman kissed, in the throes of passion. He slid a hand up her skirt.

Arthur gasped. “What is this?”

“Entertainment?” Merlin offered. The woman moaned.

“It’s obscene!”

“Oh, come on. You know that’s not true. It’s no worse than a bawdy play.”

“It’s… realistic.”

“Yeah, they do that more, these days. And there are… well. Never mind that.”

“The fighting. What was that?”

“Fighting has also changed. Instead of a sling and stones, there are things called guns that shoot bullets—small, metal things like balls—and they do a lot of damage. They can also blow things up, like, a giant, forceful fire.”

“I know what an explosion is.”

“Okay, well, think that but like, a thousand times bigger.”

“That’s… terrible.”

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed. “It really is.”

“And what is that?”

“Oh, that’s a car. An automobile.”

“It works like a carriage?”

“Yes. But it has something to propel it—like a type of oil product or electricity—”

“Like the flameless candles.”

“Right. And it moves it along. They go very, very fast.”

“Everything seems to go fast,” said Arthur.

Merlin shrugged. “You get used to it, after a while.”

“How long?” Arthur murmured.

“A thousand years,” Merlin answered. “You know, what it is isn’t that the world is _worse_ now, or even that much better, I suppose. The thing is, now we know about it. So if there’s a genocide or attempted genocide in, you know, Rwanda or Armenia or Turkey or part of China, we know about it because there are people documenting it and recording it and letting people know.”

“So why don’t you stop it?”

“You saw the globe.”

“Yes?”

“There’s so much, all the time. And in many ways, you’ll find, Arthur, that a long life is just a long time to learn how insignificant you are. Even when you’re the most powerful sorcerer to ever live.” Merlin sighed. “Like this year.”

“What about this year?”

“You’ve returned during a, well, a pretty dire year. There’s a plague. It’s killing tens of thousands—hundreds of thousands of people around the world.” He let out a humourless laugh. “The dragon said you’d return when you were most needed. Things have been pretty bad before… There’ve been other plagues, you know, and world wars.”

“Well, if the dragon said I’m to return now, that means I’m here to help, right? So what can we do?” He surged up from the sofa.

Merlin shook his head. “Help them make more of the vaccine?”

“Huh?”

“There are specialists—scientists and doctors—who have already figured it out. They have medicine for it, and now we just have to wait for it to be manufactured and passed out.”

“Oh.” Arthur sank back down. “So then… Why did I return now?”

“I don’t know.”

“What exactly did the dragon say?”

“He always spoke in riddles. He said you’re the once and future king, and that when Albion’s need was greatest, you’d return. Of course, he also said things that—I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, okay? And he told me what to do about Morgana and Mordred and, you know, if I _hadn’t_ known those things and I _hadn’t_ done things the way I did, I don’t know that it wouldn’t have turned out differently.”

Arthur nodded. “It’s done now,” he said. “And you say Camelot thrived after my death… for a time. That means my wishes were fulfilled, if only after my death. If that is what it took to usher in a golden era, so be it.” He closed his eyes, and for a moment, Merlin just stared at him.

_ He’s more beautiful than I remember _ , Merlin thought. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

Arthur shook his head. “Tired.”

“You should have the master bedroom.”

“Nonsense. I’m not taking your bed. I saw the other rooms, and I know one will suffice. I shall retire to the second floor.”

“Let me get you sleep clothes.”

Merlin lit the guest room fireplace and turned down the bedding. He showed Arthur how to use the toilet and sink. Then he went downstairs, made himself a sandwich, and stared at the ceiling until midnight.

He tried to clear his mind. His final thought before falling asleep was that of all the things he’d lived through, this was the strangest.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!! 
> 
> I know a lot of Arthur Returns stories are out there, and tbh I tend to read more canon-era and AUs, so I hope I'm not unintentionally copying anyone's stuff.
> 
> Thanks for taking the time to read this story! Stay safe out there, take care of yourself and loved ones, and happy 2021!  
> If you're enjoying it, please please please let me know (I am certainly not too proud to beg).


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